


Unexpected

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Gen, for science, priest hole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, that was...unexpected."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another kink meme fill. The original version of this accidentally defamed Stewart Ainsworth, host of _Time Team,_ because I am not British and didn't know. This has been corrected.

Unexpected  
by Mad Maudlin

"...which should've been painfully obvious to anyone and anything with eyes, and I include in that category pigeons, garden gnomes, and Anderson—"

"Sherlock," John interrupted, because most of the things with eyes also had fists, and at this rate he was never going to get around to revealing his deductions (and that was still one of the best bits of the whole job).

Sherlock waved him off, and then turned the gesture into a sort of grandiose beckon; he swirled through the door and down the corridor, leading the rest of them to the sitting room full of torn-down wallpaper, unopened buckets of paint, and the wheelchair that had belonged to the dead woman. "As I was saying—the presence of a priest hole in a house of this age, in this neighborhood, is all but assured, and Ainsworth's investigation in the house's history shows that he was aware of it. The renovations gave him an excuse to unseal said priest hole, and it provided him the means to ambush his grandmother the moment her nurse turned her back, and a place to retreat to once the deed was done." He started feeling up the wall next to the fireplace, knocking lightly and pressing on what was left of the baseboards.

"But how did he get out again?" John asked. "Some kind of secret tunnel?"

Sherlock sighed. "Really, John, I expected better of you. Why has no one seen Michael Ainsworth in the past thirty-six hours? _Because he never left the—"_

 _House_ was presumable going to be the last word, and Sherlock apparently meant to punctuate it by opening up the priest hole with a dramatic flourish. Unfortuantely, Michael Ainsworth had a crap sense of dramatic timing. A section of the wall, previously indistinguishable from the rest, burst outwards and hit Sherlock in the face, knocking him clear off his feet. Ainsworth leapt out and took a clumsy swing at the first target in his line of sight, which, unfortunately, happened to be John.

John threw up his own arm to block the punch, and then seized Ainsworth's arm above the elbow with his other hand. He spun around, and there was a moment when his bad shoulder started to say _no, nope, don't like this_ —but then he flexed his knees and bent at the waist. Ainsworth went flying over John's shoulder and landed hard on his side; without getting off the floor, John changed his grip and twisted the arm he still had hold of up and back into a hammerlock. Ainsworth yelped a little, but John kept up a moderate pressure to be sure he didn't try to break free of it.

"Bloody _hell,"_ Lestrade blurted, but at least he knelt down to start cuffing Ainsworth. Everyone else just stared like the suspected murderer was a rabbit who'd just emerged from a heretofore empty hat.

John stood up and rolled his shoulder, feeling the scarred muscles pull and protest. "All right, Sherlock?" he called.

"No," Sherlock responded, thick and petulant. "I thigk by doze is brokedt."

John checked for him, but really, it was just a bleeder--not even a bad one. "At least you were right about the priest hole, though, eh?" John said, hoping to cheer him up.

"Hmmm." Sherlock just eyed the red mess his scarf had become. "Ad I cad do those blood staid experibedts..."

"See? Silver lining."

Lestrade cleared his throat, and came to stand over them. "Er. Well done, both of you. That was...unexpected."

"Yeah, when was the last time you saw an honest-to-God hidden passage?" John asked.

"Er....yeah, that too." Lestrade looked into the dingy, cobweb-choked chamber in the wall, hardly fit to be called a cupboard. "Wonder how much longer he could've kept hidden in there...."

Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"No," John said immediately. "You're not bricking yourself up in the fireplace."

"It's for sciedts!"

 _"No."_


End file.
